


Hurt So Good

by itslovetome



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asylum, Dark, M/M, crazy!pan, orderly/patient
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:42:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itslovetome/pseuds/itslovetome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hats off to the insane. "You'd make a pretty little prostitute." The words of Mr.Gold to little Peter all for getting a good price for his soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There he lay in the white-covered bed; his arms and legs feel like they have been bolted down to the mattress. He hasn’t moved in what feels like forever with his eyes turned to the ceiling. He amuses himself- picking out different patterns and shapes; playing connect-the-dots with the cottage cheese covered ceiling. He’s cold but he always is because cold is a presence inescapable in this hellhole and god knows poor little Peter has barely enough flesh and blood to cover his bones, not quite enough to lessen the shivers that’ve taken over his body. Nothing to register except darkness and even that’s vague but then there’s the cold. The bed turned concrete ice against his head and against his legs and his toes. It feels like death and it feels like misery.

The orderlies apparently don’t think the insane need blankets- though that’s not exactly true, the boy had, out of boredom, made scraps of his but now is desperately trying to put them back together- lack of adhesive and all.

After a few minutes of failure to magic his way out of freezing, he resorts to curling up into a ball under his bed where- Don’t sleep, don’t sleep, don’t sleep, don’t sleep repeatedly plays in his head but he’s tired, he feels like an overcooked noodle short of soggy and he’s heavy with countless sleepless nights.

His lungs wheeze for air, and he knows that means he’s been up too long but there’s nothing he can do about how his body aches for sleep. There’s no energy to attempt a remedy. He remembers his mother’s words about overplaying sickness. He did this to himself after all.  

Peter takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. The sound of air circulating is just loud enough to make him tense. He doesn’t want to hear anything, the silence hates being disturbed and he learns the hard way every time it chokes him but then there’s a high pitched scream coming from the room down the hall. Voices can be heard rushing past his door; the screamer is going to get poked and prodded with needles in order to settle her down. More screams come, one after another, in such unpredictable manner that even a person used to it would startle.

Peter gets up and walks to his door, looks out the small, frosted window attempting to see some of the commotion. The screams have already stopped and no more voices can be heard causing one to think that everything had gone back to its never-quiet silence. As he walks back to his place under the bed, the last of the screams sound. It’s higher and louder than the rest. The boy falls to the ground, burrowed into himself.

Tears had absentmindedly started to fall from his blue eyes, down his cheeks, making a puddle on the wooden floor beneath him. His curls sprawl out on his face. He holds onto his knees as tightly as his thin arms will let him; his whole body shakes and he stays curled up for a few minutes before he feels his limbs start to move and he swears it’s like thread is tied to parts of him; he has no control of his body. He soon realizes it’s not thread at all but a person, touching and pulling him from under the bed. Peter struggles against the hands and lashes out violently with strength he knew not he had.

“Let go! I’m sleeping. I swear, I was sleeping. I didn’t scream. I didn’t scream.” The hand that was once pulling is now over his mouth forcing him quiet.

“Shh. You’ll get yourself sedated.”


	2. Chapter 2

Killian knows Peter is the most dangerous of all the patients in the Kensington asylum but now, with his hand over Peter’s mouth, all he sees is fear. He’s shaking slightly and it’s evident from the angry red lining his blue eyes that he’d been crying and he’s not sure if it bothers him that the boy is hurt. Especially since just last week he slit the throat of an orderly wide open. Killian slowly moves his hand away.

  
“I’m only here to check up on you. Standard issuing of meds- With your cooperation, It’ll only take a second.”

  
Peter narrows his eyes all traces of fear banished from his otherwise tear-stained face. “I already took my medication.” He states matter of factly. He leans back onto the frame of his bed and tilts his head lazily. “There were all these colorful pills. Tell me-” He smiles all toothy-charm, “I know there are pills that do all kinds of interesting things…is there a pill to remedy hate?”

  
Killian ignores the question partly because he knows the boy doesn’t really want an answer and more so because it’s policy to keep conversation between patient and orderly to a minimum. He grabs Peters arm and takes to disinfecting the site of injection at the underside of his elbow. The boy frowns his lips into a tense line.

  
“I thought you weren’t here to sedate me.” He almost sounded betrayed and Killian is quick to tell him he wasn’t going to.  
“You’re a liar.” Peter coos “You don’t have to lie.”

  
Killian sighs and looks the boy in the eye as he takes out a syringe and sees how Peter’s face stays neutral. “It’ll put you to sleep, yes, but it has less to do with sedating you and more to do with your insomnia.”

  
Peter jerks away and hides his arms behind his back- “I don’t want to sleep.” He hisses with all the fire you’d expect from a child. Killian hates this part of his job because of course the insomniac doesn’t want to sleep. Why the hell would he?

  
“Listen, kid, you have to take the injection. Now either I do it or I’ll call in help and you will be held down and you will take the injection.”

  
Peter laughs. “I like being held down. It’s like hugs all around.” He continues to giggle. “Will you be doing the hugging? It’s terribly cold in here. I could die from frostbite, y’know, I read somewhere that it’s possible.”

  
Killian attempts to force the boy into surrendering his arm but Peter only laughs louder “I like it when you touch me. Here let’s make a deal.” His eyes sparkled with amusement lighting his face“I’ll let you…poke. Me. If you kiss me.” He points to his lips and grins that charming grin of his. “Right here.”

  
“or” Killian states quite tired of the games, “I’ll just press this button here and have someone else deal with you.”

  
Peter pouts and crosses his legs in mock-defeat. “Fine.” He offers his arm “but only because I’d rather it be you hurting me than anyone else.” This only makes Killian breathe out in relief; he doesn’t give a damn what the little demon’s reasons for anything are. He picks up the syringe again making sure he has a tight grip on the boy’s arm. Peter takes a sharp inhale as the needle slides into his skin and laughs sleepily-

  
“Harder. Please.”

Killian shakes his head in disbelief. Makes sure to be quick in packing and picks the now-sleeping and rather peaceful form up- he’s so light and scarily tiny that Killian can feel bones through the thin material of his cloths and so is careful to lower him into bed gently. He notices there, in place of a blanket, are the remains of a blanket shredded into nothing. Before leaving for good he returns with a new one… two because he’d rather not have the kid die of frostbite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really not sure where this is going but I like it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I continue with the story? I'm not so sure anymore.

 

Half-conscious, Peter can feel cool fingers traipsing up his shirt. Most of him hasn’t quite registered what’s happening but his hands instinctively swat at the intruder. His eyes are heavy with sleep, his mind almost completely gone- his heart, though, beats faster at the prospect of being violated.

“You’re alright, my dear boy. Stay still.”

 _Still._ Not the first time he’s been told to stay still.

“mmm-stop” He mutters against the haze of sleep. Whoever is touching him seems to enjoy the fact that the boy is helpless to his advances. The fact that Peter can’t move much less speak frustrates him. He wants to scream. _Wants to kill_.  

The faceless man easily subdues the boy's wrists in a tight hold above his head while he moves down to remove pants.

“I’ll be sure to be quick. Gold says you’re quite popular.”

Peter strains against the man's muscles still unable to move as moans and grunts of pleasure soon fill the air and even still the unnamed stranger slams into his slight body. The boy’s eyes are shut tightly as the man grabs his hips roughly, the tight grip of his calloused fingers sure to leave bruises. He bites his lip and tries to block out the scraping, burning feel that always accompanies sex with men. He hates the sounds most- how the man's breath fans hot and heavy on his face in waves of nauseating stench. Finally, the man reaches his climax but stays atop Peter- he tenses as hands roam his body as much as they want, and doesn’t, can’t say anything as lips place kisses wherever they land but when the man attempts to kiss Peter’s lips, he bites down hard enough to draw blood and he doesn’t even care that the man yells and lashes out on him.

Enjoys the beating of hands on his face and body because at least that can’t make him hate himself. The pain pulls him out of the cursed sleep and he opens his eyes just in time to see the man’s hand come down in contact with his cheek. There’s the unmistakable taste of iron in his mouth but that doesn’t stop Peter from smiling all teeth at the dark haired man in front of him.

“Hit me again.” He half-growls. That stops the man in his tracks. Maybe it’s the way the boy is looking at him like any second now he’s capable of taking his life but he stands and zips up his pants in departure. Leaves Peter to spit and pull his clothes back on. He’s sick and he’s still tired and he imagines he looks like a whore all spent to ash. This reminds him of rainy days back home, when after meeting with a strange man in some strange house, he’d limp home in his disheveled clothes not giving a damn if he got wet or not.

This wasn’t so different. He had no say of who used him here but his service didn’t change a bit not since Mr. Gold is under the impression that the boy has just pretty enough features to be marketable.

 _“and no one will believe you.”_ He had said to Peter and Peter had accepted that. He didn’t need anyone to believe anything.

It’s soon breakfast and Peter drags himself out of bed but struggles to stay upright. Is he meant to continue living through this hell and smile? He does smile, rather brightly, when he sees the man from the night before. The dark haired pirate with the piercing eyes that plagued his dreams. He isn’t sure what his name is but he knows that the man had left him with blankets- that hadn’t gone unnoticed and so he half-limps toward him and imagines he gave the man quite the worry from the look on his face.

“What the hell happened to you?” an examining hand is on Peter’s cheek and it’s all he can do not to flinch.

“I can be pretty violent with myself.” The boy replies “I don’t remember your name.”

“Killian.”

“Well, Killian, why not make yourself useful and grab me an apple or something. I can’t exactly walk right now.”

This Killian furrows his eyebrows and keeps a questioning eye on him but hesitantly agrees to Peter’s request.


	4. Chapter 4

Killian is certain when he lays eyes on Peter’s broken form that the boy must have no idea of the state he’s in. His lip is torn, half his face taken over by painted purple and blue and regardless of his claim of violence, just looking at him, he’s certain the boy did not do this to himself.

He makes his way over to the line of patients waiting to get their breakfast when Alice taps him on the shoulder.

“Could you, uh, head over to Ruby’s room?” she asks “she’s swaying back into her manic phase.”  
  
Killian groans and flips through the notes, reading what he already knows about the severely bipolar woman.  
  
“Who’s after that?” He sighs knowing there’s always an _after._  
  
She pops her gum. “Jefferson down in room 20. He’s making tinfoil hats again.”  
  
The paranoid schizophrenic patient enjoys constructing hats out of whatever he can get his hands on, he’s under the impression that if he can make it just right, he’ll be able to get back home to his daughter. He doesn’t have children. Killian has tried to discourage it for his own good, but it’s basically a useless thing to attempt.

Peter is busy trying to get a good look at himself with an aluminum table accent when Killian returns with an apple and oatmeal. He clears his throat to get his attention and places the food in front of him. Peter, startled out of his self-ogling, scrunches his nose up in distaste either at the oatmeal or what he had seen.

“How bad?” He asks gesturing at his face.

“Honestly, you look a wreck. I have to see to some patients though so, eat up. I’ll be back later to talk about… why you decided to punish yourself.”

Peter shrugs non-committedly, “I was naughty.”

***

Killian has no words for why, throughout the day, Peter remains in a corner of his mind festering in all his ineffable glory. Can’t get his empty eyes out of his head, can’t stop thinking about his defensive comments.

He knows a troubled child when he sees one and Peter is troubled. He knows all too well of demons that eat away sleep. He remembers his clearly.

With his thoughts running wild with him, Killian finishes rounds quickly- less concerned than usual hinting obviously that he was too worried about the boy to put care into the other patients walking around completely physically intact. Any danger to them was within and mental. Whoever had hurt Peter was sure to hurt him again and it angered him that he couldn’t help. 

The light had died from the sky by the time he’d gone through every name on his list. The last is Peter so he picks up some sedatives for the boy before making his way over to his room. He’s a bit surprised to see that he’s fast asleep.

He looks down on Peter’s unmoving body- he’s pretty, his face giving away nothing of his true nature- he’s sleeping beauty in a world of dirt and terror and Killian can’t help but wonder if maybe that terror had somehow seeped into the boy’s impressionable shell. It’s common knowledge, after all, that in a diseased environment, in order to survive, one must sometimes harden their resolve.

“Peter, wake up.” He says all too quietly. He doesn’t really want to disturb him but knows he must administer the injection.

“Go away.” Peter spits back his voice rough and crackling with sleepy distaste. Still Killian coaxes him up until Peter’s eyes are squinting in the dark. He looks positively murderous. “What? You can’t just let me sleep? Tell me, what good are needles when I’m able to sleep fine without them?”

“Orders are orders. I don’t give them to myself.”

“Then lie. I don’t want it.” There are no games lacing Peter’s words tonight. He’s seething with anger and any innocence that showed in his face was wiped off with bruises.

Killian puts down the box of medicine and sits on the edge of his bed. “What exactly happened to you?” Peter rolls his eyes and sets his jaw “I told you. I did it to myself. It feels good, the pain, it’s better than being numb, I gue-” He’s cut off by a yawn. He stretches slightly and in the action exposes more bruises-many bruises speckled all over his torso. Killian pulls the boys shirt up and Peter, in his sleepy state, is too slow to stop him. Before Killian can say anything Peter clenches tight fingers in the hem of his shirt to assure they curtain what’s underneath.

“I like it rough, alright?” It wasn’t the least bit playful Peter was known for. That statement was all defense.

“Who did that to you, Peter? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uh forced myself to write this chapter. I'm all kinds of disappointed about it :[ but don't stop reading. It'll get better. Promises, promises.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Peter doesn’t want to admit it but he’s terrified- he knows it’s irrational, knows feeling is only human but humanity? He’d given up on it long ago and still here Killian is, begging his trust and promising safety- What safety does the man think he has to offer? People are cruel- especially men with faces like his. Eyes that beautiful cannot be trusted. Peter closes his eyes and shakes his head not daring to believe in anything so childishly foolish.

“You can’t protect me, Killian.”

“Not if I don’t know what I’m protecting you from.”

Peter shakes his head again with more fervor “No, you don’t get it. I don’t need your protecting.”  

Killian only takes this as more reason to convince Peter that he can and not only that but will, “My girlfriend, Emma, she’s a lawyer. If it’s someone who works here, abusing their power, she can help.”

Peter raises an eyebrow curious to know more of this Emma. He’s not so curious of how she can help him but of her relationship with Killian.

“You have a girlfriend?” Of course he does. Of course he’s not single. What the hell does this Killian want from him anyway if not to force himself into his pants in exchange for the promise of protection? Killian nods and continues to explain that she’s rather good at what she does but Peter’s not interested in what she’s _good_ at.

“I told you. I’m fine. All I _need_ you to do is forget about the medication and leave.”

“I know you didn’t do this to yourself, Peter.” He whispers with urgency. He sets Peter with a look desperate to reach him and Peter is tired of it. He doesn’t care about him. No one really does.

“I’m manipulative.” He says suddenly “I’m in here because I’m a danger to society and to myself.”

Killian disagrees, “You’re in here because just a year ago your mother had you admitted.”

Peter laughs darkly, “because I tried to kill her.”

Peter leans in toward Killian. Close enough, he hopes, to make the older man uncomfortable but Killian doesn’t move away, he keeps his eyes on Peters “Let me help you.” The boy sighs

“Let. It. Go. You bore me to tears with all this shit talk of saving me from myself because it is myself you’d be saving me from.”

Killian decidedly gives up and picks up the box full of needles that prick to sleep and Peter is not above struggling against him. He pushes away and sits in the furthest corner of the bed and figures he knows exactly how to get out of tonight’s dose of sleeping serum.

“Don’t. Please Don’t.” Killian’s hand drops- faced with a teary eyed Peter.

The older man doesn’t know what to do with this boy who so easily plays with emotions like toys at his fingertips. He claims he’s a master in manipulation and Killian can’t say he’s not affected.

“Just tonight.” He sighs to Peter's smile,

“It’ll be our dirty little secret.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has anyone stared at a screen, while in the process of writing, for so long that they couldn't even tell exactly what they were writing anymore? yea, I don't even know what the words I wrote today are. It's all super undecipherable but here you go, an update.

Peter, as he does more often than he’d like to admit, makes his way over to the medical wing. He needs something to dull the searing boredom that has taken over his bones. The nurse is reluctant, but it’s physically obvious that the boy is not well and with a little effort, one slightly distorted and terribly forced smile mingled with all sorts of hidden pain later, the nurse had assembled a cocktail of pills for him. He downed them all out of need for stimulation but now, back in his suffocating room, he’s restless and nothing has kicked in yet.

He sighs dramatically and all too audibly to himself- wonders what the honorable Killian is doing. Probably promising a happy ever after to every nut job in the bloody asylum, Peter thinks to himself darkly, and of course _he_ believes in happy ever afters when he’s practically living one with his _Emma_.

Peter grinds his teeth scratching nightmarishly at one of his thin blankets, his mind obsessed with painting a picture of just _how_ perfect their life really is- they probably live together and he probably loves her a voice supplies for him… probably whispers sickening things in her ear about how _she’s so beautiful_ because she probably is and Peter is tearing again. The rip of the fabric only fueling his never-ceasing rage.

Peter thinks it might be the man’s eyes that have him so upset- they looked maddeningly concerned to him, like he actually gave a damn of his well-being. Foolish. Just like a whore, allowed one heart-wrenching gaze to completely undo him and then his fingers stop. There’s a knock at the door. Peter glares and before he can even invite the person in, she’s already inside…

“No of course, come in.” He says recognizing the woman to be Alice. She’s one of the more annoying orderlies who work there but she doesn’t try to undress Peter with her eyes every time she comes to visit, so he’s not too cross to see her.

“Why aren’t you out with the others watching the movie?” She asks already busying herself with tidying up the room. Peter doesn’t have much and he’s the furthest thing from messy so the sight is rather odd.

“Well because I’m currently occupied with starring in one. I like to call it Psycho except, I think maybe there’s already one called that.” He shifts in his bed and lies down on his back. There’s always a character- a mask he has to slip into when there’s anyone around.

“Why aren’t _you_ cleaning a room that actually needs cleaning?” Peter looks at her and cracks a smile, “Could it be that you’re just pretending to do your job well?”

Alice ignores him. He’s not too hurt over it considering he’s always being ignored. Instead he decides to amend his question, “Must be boring being keeper of order.” He muses, his eyes softening in mock-empathy.

“What are you getting at Peter?” She responds in a no-nonsense laced voice. There’s no one thing the boy is attempting at he just enjoys getting under people’s skin- He wishes he _had_ something he was trying to get at because the truth is he doesn’t. He smiles.

“I saw a man yesterday.” He says completely changing the subject, “I think he’s an orderly but I’m not sure. He has black hair, built kinda nice-” Peter bites his lip lightly having caught Alice’s attention, “his eyes were like sex. Do you know him?”

She opens her mouth looking like a fish out of water, her eyes bowls of surprise but then she quickly collects herself, “No one person comes to mind.”

Peter sits up suddenly, ignores how his brain spins slightly in his head, “Oh come on, it’s not like every man who works here is a wet dream.”

Alice shakes Peter’s words off, her cheeks, warmed red, giving away how uncomfortable she really is by the his words. She clasps her hands together awkwardly and glues her lips together in a tight line before inching toward the door.

“I’ve got so many rooms left to be cleaned.” She says then as if she owes Peter some excuse of an apology, “I better be going.”

Peter just shrugs innocently, “I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

***

That night, when Killian comes in to persuade Peter into his shot, he finds that the boy is absolutely inebriated, his eyes a cloudy glass like fire all snuffed out to smoke, and his fingers raking lazily through his hair. Killian draws his eyebrows together, wonders if knocking him out, obviously drugged on one thing or another, would be the safest thing. He settles on the edge of the bed, and places the box of sedatives on the ground near his feet. Peter doesn’t look at him, doesn’t even move when Killian takes hold of his wrist to check his pulse- his skin is burning under Killian's cooler touch. He actually has to fight a flinch when he places a hand to his forehead, brushes back his hair, bringing out the dark bags that have formed under blue.  

“I’m not in the mood.” He mutters deliriously, “I don’t want it tonight.” And Killian thinks he's talking about his injection but then he adds that he hurts and his legs are tired. _Spit is not lube enough._ Killian’s stomach drops horribly at the words.

“Peter,” His voice is but a whisper, but he has to get him to explain what he’s talking about, “has someone forced themselves onto you?”

Peter shakes his head, smiles tiredly, “No. I’m ready, though, if you uh want to,” He doesn’t finish his sentence, just drops his arm onto Killian’s lap in expectance.

“What were you saying about lube?” he doesn’t answer, just lulls his head toward Killian uninterestedly, exposes his marked stomach in a stretch, before scratching a hand down his hitched shirt.

He fixes the older man with vacant eyes that Killian watches as Peter’s tired hand continues to lower slowly until it slips under the elastic of his sleep pants. His eyes close then and his lip has caught in his teeth to bite down a moan.

“I don’t have any.” He rasps, “Do you?” the voice, cracked and worn, snaps Killian out of his daze. He grabs the boy’s moving hand a bit harshly and looks away, evidently affected by how Peter gasps into a breathy laugh.

“Stop. You don’t know what you’re doing.” Killian’s voice is tense with barely restrained want.

“Do I entice you, Killian?” Even though he can’t see Peter’s face, he can hear a mocking smile in his voice. His hand moves out from under the older man’s leaving Killian’s hand pressed to the still-exposed skin of his heated stomach. Killian's fingers are curling there and he can’t deny that he’s aroused by the sounds coming from Peter’s sinful mouth and he feels dirty for letting the boy get to him.

Killian shakes his head to clear it, and stands in order to distance himself from the arching body.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Killian’s jaw tenses, he’s not sure how to respond to his attempts to seduce him. “I can be _very_ quiet.” He adds. He hears the bed creak as the Peter shuffles. Killian faces him.

Peter’s hair is unkempt from fingers that’ve been teasing through it all day, his cheeks are flushed and his lips red and swollen. He looks like he’s been had in bed all day, and even though the boy is marked in discolored bruises, Killian thinks him alluring.

“Forget the shot tonight. You’re in no state to be under even more drugs.” He bends down to pick up the box of medication and makes to leave but then Peter is standing.

“Wait, don’t leave.” Killian may be mistaken but he sounds desperate, one frail looking hand outstretched for a fraction of a second.

“You’re my last patient, Peter, I need to head home.”

“To Emma, was it?” He supplies bitterly. Killian nods, “She’s expecting me, yes.”

Peter’s legs are weak, his head growing heavy with either sick or anger- he doesn’t know which but he hopes Killian doesn’t notice. His legs noticeably start to shake, though, and Killian doesn’t think the boy is well. By the time he makes it close enough to check on him, he’s falling to the ground. Catching him before he hits the hard floor is all the older man can do.

“Peter?” Killian’s voice is full of worry as he scrambles to gather him into his arms, “Peter.”

Peter blinks unenthusiastically, he hates himself for not being strong enough to stand without tripping over air like some damsel in distress.

“I’m fine.” He spits defiantly but Killian isn’t having any of it. He’s standing with him in his arms and, when Peter begins to struggle to be let down, afraid he might drop him, only fixes him with a stern look.

“Stay _still_.” And, much to the older man’s perplexion, like magic, Peter stops moving.

“You are not fine. I’m going to take you in to see a doctor.” 

Peter rolls his eyes, “You’d only be wasting your time." A bit dejectedly, he nuzzles into Killian's neck, the boy's labored breath on his skin, doing unplaceable things to his body, "Are you sure you don’t just want to hold me in your big strong arms?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's that update but I'm not promising quality.

  
He burns like a furnace, heating up the room, and it’s so hot he’s certain eternal hell comes in the guise of asylum hospital beds and restraints. Every once in a while there are _fingers scorching in their wake; branded by trails of nails long gone._

Peter blames his shirt- it’s flimsy in texture, hardly covers anything. He aches to cover up, maybe hug himself, wrap his arms around himself and hide against some quiet wall if only to catch his breath and sooth his burns.

"Head down. Ass up." No eye contact- with strangers when he’s walking down the street at night because pretty doesn't last long alone.

Out the window, there’s a concrete wall in place of glass, the only thing in sight is a red fire hydrant and a little boy, smile plastered on his face, playing, waiting for his babysitter to take his hand and take him home with ice cream because he's been-

 "Such a good boy."

Peter laughs unknowingly that Killian is still there watching the boy struggle a bit against the thin mattress. In third grade, the desk that belonged to him always creaked. The whole room is filled with bed spring creaks. _Peter? Do you know the answer to #5?_   He shakes his head and replies, in a whisper, that he didn't do the assignment and she looks disappointed but that's not new except he’s shaking and curling his fingers into the sheets, smothering his face into the pillow- wishing to all hell that the man would anger and snap his neck.

"You need to hold still."

His voice is strained. _Daddy, I didn't mean to. I swear it was an accident!_ Tears? They never did get him anywhere not even if that was when he was being the most honest. He screamed. Startled Killian to stand. LISTEN TO ME!

and who's going to listen to a little boy anyway? He still didn't know the answer to #5 but the bell rang and an inaudible breath that he didn't know he was holding in, escapes. He’s left in a pile of _dirty laundry doesn't need to be aired for the entire neighborhood to see_ and he’s covered in a thin layer of sweat. He’s disgusting.

"You were good." rains down in the form of fives but he doesn’t move to collect a single one. He doesn’t think he could if he wanted to.

The lights flicker in a wink and the familiar sting of air circulating the room is missing and it all seems desperate to tell him a joke, so he laughs like he’s in on it and it makes Killian’s eyebrows furrow in concern. The boy is delirious.

“You know how when you’re tired you just know? It’s like your bones weigh more and your eyes weigh more. It’s just all so hard to carry so you sleep?”

No reply. Killian writes it off as idle self-talk or sick; either way, he doesn’t normally respond.

“Did you hear me?”

Yes.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m stuck in thoughts.”

“You’re thinking of her aren’t you?”

No.

“Well I was supposed to meet her a while back.” Not a direct lie. Peter strains in order to look Killian in the eye and there’s a smile there split by the clear, cylindrical tube of an IV.

“Then leave. I’m alright and I’m not going anywhere,” and Killian would have if it were any other patient. He’s certain he would have but for some odd reason he can’t bring himself to even consider the thought.

“I think I’ll wait until you’re done with the fluids so I can help you back to your room.”

Peter laughs, “So you can help me back to my room.” _Help me out of my clothes, maybe. They burn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I'm taking a short break from writing. I don't know when my next update'll be but hopefully it won't be forever from now.


End file.
